The North
by wickedworrior
Summary: The world was easy when he was younger. Living in Minis Tirith as a boy, he was full of wonder. But now, he wasn't a boy anymore. And he wasn't living in the White city anymore. Now he lived North, beyond The Iron Mountains, beyond Mount Gundabad. Nothing but ice and more ice. The daily blizzard is the least of his worries, from Orcs to the very men who live in the North. Snowmen.


**Author's Note: Just an idea I had, let me know what you think with a review. I own nothing.**

 _ **The Northern Waste…**_

 _Twenty years before the ring passed to Frodo Baggins of the Shire…_

It was the sound of the howling wind he had fallen asleep to, and it was what he woke up to every morning. The wind thrashing against the side of the igloo. His eyes opened for a second and closed again. He didn't want to get up, he was warm enough lying on his bed. He would have to, if the wind wasn't howling. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He sat up and he was in his usual attire. Handmade clothes from dead Wargs. He had a large hide over his shoulders and the head hung on his right shoulder. The Warg was jet black, he remembered killing it. He had a long black cloak that was his fathers, it was from the land below. Gondor to be exact, but no one called it that up here.

He made the effort of getting up, he stood and the black cloak went away and he felt the cold air touch his fur covered legs. He took another breath, just another day in paradise. His feet were warm at least, he walked over to the shelf that had books set upon it. His boots crunching the ice floor, which was decorated with two large Warg skins. He wondered what his father would say to him now. 'You need to be happy son, we're lucky they don't mind outsiders up here'. He sighed at the thought, an outsider he was. His hands were ungloved, which was the only way he could read a book. It was morning though, too cold to have them off. He quickly put on his clothes, he had two Warg paws on his knuckles, their claws pointing outward, and they were nice if he got in a bit of trouble.

Once his naked hands were clothed he placed his clothed hands on his cheeks. He felt his cheeks get warm for a second, then they went back to being cold. He shrugged, that was the best he was going to get. He rubbed his beard, it was long now, he hadn't noticed. Hard to notice anything if it kept you warm up in the North. He hadn't had a mirror in seven years, but he at least knew he had blue eyes. His hair was long as well, it was braided back, it hung by his shoulders. It also helped against the wind. If his old friends could see him now, they'd probably run away from the wild man. He chuckled softly at the thought of his old friends. His father was a one of the Tower Guard in the White City. After what happened, he was just called and oath breaker.

He felt sadness creeping into him as he continued to think about it, he pushed it away and walked to the door of the igloo. He pushed the Warg hide away and stepped out into the wind. It wasn't blowing very hard, but enough that you'd freeze if you weren't around any shelter. He looked down at the small settlement that he and his father had called home, their igloo was up the hill, they didn't mind outsiders, but they weren't nice to them either.

He knew that all too well, he could still feel the cold steel slicing down his back six years ago. He now had a scar that went front his left shoulder, all the way down to his right hip. That was the first scar, he had forty-five at his last count. The danger of living in the North. He took a deep breath of the cold rigid air that his lungs had finally gotten used to. He began his little walk down the hill, he needed something from the market. The hill liked to curve at certain spots, and it wasn't entirely snow either, some patches were ice. He had a path though, he went down it and not even a problem occurred. The sun had risen a bit by the time he got to the settlement. He walked past the guard towers, ice towers more like it. The guards knew who he was, they didn't even make a noise as he entered the settlement. The igloos ranged in size, larger families, compared to smaller ones. He noticed the settlers weren't very happy to see him, in fact they never were. He marched on though, just coming into town for something and leaving. He hoped he didn't get into any trouble, he left his sword in his igloo.

The market was quite large for a small settlement out in the middle of nowhere. He walked over to the stall of the only person that actually liked him. She was a short woman of the age seventy, hard old bird. She was nice. She saw him and her eyes lit up "Owemyr" she said

Owemyr smiled "Morning Gralen"

Gralen smiled, her yellow teeth were crooked. "Come down from your hill"

"Yeah, I need something"

Her eyes gazed at him sharply "And could it be from the land below?"

Owemyr smiled "Only you can get stuff from down there"

"Aye, it's your home. Not up here with us Snowmen"

Owemyr only smiled, his red lips showing through his beard. Gralen turned and bent down and pulled out a small wooden box. She opened it and she pulled out a cloth of silk. "Made in the White City itself" she said offering it to him.

Owemyr felt his heart lift when he took it from her. He pulled out his pouch and poured twenty shells and gave them to her. She took them with a smile. "Something new every month, who sends you these things?"

Owemyr held the blue silk in his gloved hand, he wished he could feel it at that moment. He looked away and stared into the old woman's bright blue eyes "It's a long story"

Gralen smiled "I have a little time left" she said

"Not today"

Gralen nodded and put the wooden box away. "Owemyr, be careful up there. Hate to hear you got yourself killed by Yrch"

Owemyr nodded "Me too"

"Farewell my boy" she said

"Farewell" Owemyr said and he put the silk cloth into his robes and walked back to the exit of the settlement. He was almost out when he heard a loud holler "Oi!"

Owemyr stopped and turned to see the man he usually ran into. "Hello Hemur"

Hemur was a tall broad burly man, his blonde hair was long and greasy from not being washed and he had a great beard with red sprinkled throughout. His blue eyes were piercing, Owemyr owed the scar on his back to him. He stomped forward "We don't need the likes of you here"

"I came in to get something and I'm leaving"

"We don't want you coming in at all"

Owemyr sighed "It's once a month"

"Once a month is too much"

"You don't have to talk to me, you're the one who always talks to me"

"I see you walking around, a Bellower. Nothing but trouble"

"I am leaving" Owemyr said

Hemur nodded "Then get to it, I don't want to see you again"

Owemyr backed away slowly, treating Hemur like an animal. He nodded "You won't see me"

"Seven years" Hemur said

Owemyr nodded "I have the scar to prove it"

Hemur stared at him coldly as he left the settlement. Owemyr loved it when he had his quarrels with Hemur. Sadly he wasn't a lumbering idiot, he was smart. So Owemyr had to keep his word, at least till next month. Hemur often barked more than he bit. It was only one time that he actually got hurt, that as because he had been an idiot and provoked him. In other words, he was a kid and he was a kid. Just a bigger one. Owemyr got to the top of the hill and he turned to look down it. He saw the settlement, just a lonely patch of people living by themselves, relying on themselves. Just like he was, he turned back to his igloo and walked into it. He felt it become slightly warmer since he was out of the wind.

Owemyr took off his gloves, he quickly pulled the blue silk cloth out and rubbed his fingers against it. He missed the feeling of Gondorian silk. Especially to who this belonged. He brought the silk to his nose and took a soft sniff. It smelled like lilacs and lavender. He wished he could see her, one last time. He pulled the silk away and put it back into his robes and he walked over to his bed and sat down. He reached over and grabbed a small wooden figure that was half carved. He grabbed the knife next to it and he began to continue carving. He passed the time like this, just carving. Not much else to do, he was going hunting on the morrow and he wanted to get some carving in before that happened.

The sun had passed and it was beyond the land and the sky was dark. The stars seated high above. The snow giving off light and it glowed slightly. Owemyr was asleep, the wooden figure was carved, and it was a Gondorian soldier. The knife was sitting next to it and only the wind made noise tonight. Owemyr was back in the White City, the white stone, the horses, the young maidens. He was almost smiling from his dream when he heard a loud horn. His eyes shot open, for a moment he thought it was a horn of Gondor. He sat up and held his breath. The horn came again, he climbed out of his bed and grabbed his sword that was sitting next to his bed. He quickly tied it around his waist, he grabbed the knife next to the wooden figure and he put it in the scabbard on his other hip. He checked his lower back and he needed his other knife, his father's.

Owemyr turned in the darkness and he found the glimmer, he grabbed it and put it into its scabbard. Owemyr walked over to the entrance and he slowly left the igloo. He looked down and he heard anther horn blast and he saw the settlement on fire. He inhaled and held his breath as he heard loud screaming and roars. Owemyr thought about gathering his things and leaving, but he couldn't run away. He ran away because of his father, he wasn't going to run away again. He put his hand on his sword and he unsheathed it. The sword sung as it came out to the cold air and he took a deep breath and ran down the hill. His boots slamming into the frozen snow, he stepped onto ice and he slid down the hill. He took quick breaths as he ran toward the ice towers. The guards were gone. He heard loud roaring and he got to the entrance. He slowed down and he slowly peered around the corner. He saw a large force of Yrch. He saw them burning down the market. Owemyr had to be lying to himself when he ran out and he heard the Yrch respond to seeing him.

They charged and Owemyr had his sword ready and he dodged the first strike. He sidestepped the Yrch and he brought his sword along its gut and sliced into its dark flesh. The dark black eye widened and a loud shriek of pain left its black mouth. Owemyr parried the next attack, the sword rung as the metal clashed. He slid the blade along the dark iron and he drove the white steel through the Orch's chest. He exhaled and pulled it out and kicked the Orch to the ground. His heart was pumping as he blocked another strike and punched the Orch in the face. It yelped and he cut its head off.

Owemyr turned and dodged a stab and he kneed the Orch in the gut and it groaned. He pulled out his knife and stabbed it in the chest. It lurched backward and roared into the air. He gritted his teeth and drove the sword through its throat. Owemyr parried two different strikes. His hands were aching as he felt each strike resonate into his hand. He kicked on in the gut and he parried an upward strike. He stabbed the Orch in the throat and he spun and sliced another charging Orch's throat with his sword. Black blood was flowing onto the ice. He grimaced as his arm ached as he brought the sword up, he hadn't wielded it for a while. Another Orch attacked, Owemyr bolted forward and went under its swing. He drove the sword through the back of its head and it came out of its mouth. Black blood splattered outward and the orange light from the fire made it seem even darker. Owemyr exhaled and pulled the sword out.

Owemyr turned and he saw Hemur driving an axe into an Orch's head, splitting it in two. Owemyr ran toward him and he took deep breaths as he ran over the dead bodies. He dodged them and with sure footing he stabbed an Orch through the back. He kicked it off his sword and turned to see Hemur in front of him. He looked at him and then an arrow went into his throat. Owemyr gasped as he looked and he saw an archer. It drew another arrow and aimed at him. He was dead, nothing to stop the Orch from shooting him. The arrow released and flew toward him. He brought his sword up and it glanced off the arrow and it flew past his head and into a wooden door. Owemyr pulled out his knife and threw it. The knife flew through the cold air and sunk its bright metal into0 the Orch's eye. It hollered and fell over. Owemyr turned to see Hemur lying on the ground, coughing and gasping for air as his blood flowed out of his neck in quick squirts. Owemyr knelt down and he grabbed torn cloth and put it to Hemur's neck. His blue eyes glared up at him and he coughed and blood splattered onto Owemyr's face. Owemyr took his hands away from Hemur's neck and he sat back and he looked around as the settlement was being destroyed. He saw a woman running out of an igloo and she was caught ablaze. A loud horrid scream came as she burned.

He looked away and he saw an Orch drive a sword through a man and blood went everywhere. Owemyr looked at Hemur, his blue eyes stared up at him, his beard soaked with his blood. He didn't want to believe it, but it was happening. He stood, his sword lightly touching the blood covered snow. He took a step and a blast of fire came from one of the stalls in the market. The fire blazed bright and Owemyr could feel its heat. He saw an Orch charging at him, he saw it all happen in slow motion. Everything was dulled, every noise muted. He reacted and blocked two strikes and he countered and sliced the Orch in the gut and it felt to the ground. Owemyr brought up his foot and drove it down onto the Orch's face and it caved inward and blood splattered out the sides of its head.

Owemyr turned to only see more death and chaos as flames surrounded him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened them and exhaled.

* * *

 _The snow was blasting past him as he entered the igloo. "This'll take some getting used to" he said as he walked over to his son. "Father, why did we leave?" Owemyr asked_

 _He looked at his son and took a seat. "Son, I need you to understand, it was dangerous to stay in White city."_

" _But why?"_

 _He swallowed "Well son, I'm not welcome there anymore"_

" _What about me?"_

" _You're not either"_

" _Why, did id do something?"_

" _No, you didn't do anything son, it was my fault"_

" _What happened?"_

 _He was silent for a moment, then spoke "I'll tell you when you're older"_

" _Father?"_

" _Yeah son?"_

" _Are there Orcs here?"_

" _We're in the wild son, everything is out here"_

 _Owemyr nodded and he looked at his father's sword. "Will you teach me?"_

 _He looked at the sword as well, he chuckled "Not tonight"_

 _Owemyr nodded "Okay"_

" _Now go to sleep son, we have a long day ahead of us"_

* * *

The sun was up and he was sitting on the only barrel that hadn't been burned to black char. His sword was resting against him, the blade in the snow and the hilt up by his shoulder. The night was long, he was the only survivor. He was still coming down from it all and he just stared at the dead bodies around him. The ground was now frozen again, the red and black mixed blood was now stuck in time. He took a breath and closed his eyes. Everyone was dead, even Gralen, he found her with a spear through her chest. She was stuck to her own stall. He shook his head to get the image out of his head.

He closed his eyes and thought about home, the white stones, the laughter of his friends, her. He opened his eyes and it all went away, he was back in a destroyed settlement far up north and alone. He had been alone for two years now, ever since his Father died. Owemyr knew what happened, his Father killed a Tower guardsmen, and he was attacking a woman. But that's not what it looked like, so his father was branded a traitor and he had to flee and he took his son with him. Now he was dead, and the branding was now on him. No one wants a boy with a traitor for a father, a bad seed they would call him. He knew he could never go back home. So he pushed every thought about it out of his head and focused on his current situation. His igloo was still intact, and he was supposed to go hunting. The settlement was down now, he couldn't stay. More Yrch would come and he couldn't survive all of them. Funny, he never really knew them as Yrch, they were always Orc, now though, he called them the same thing every Snowman does. He was living in a whole new world, a world that doesn't care if he died, the snow wasn't going to weep for him. He needed to rely on himself, he'd already been doing it for two years.

He stood and sheathed his sword. He walked through the burnt destroyed settlement and made his way up his hill to his igloo. He gathered his things and he got one large pack and he slung it onto his back. He looked at the books on the shelf, he thought about taking them, but then again, he'd read them over seven times. He left them there, he didn't need them. He stood outside his igloo and black smoke was still rising from the settlement. He needed to get a move on, he did not want to be here when the sun went down.

Owemyr began walking, nothing but a barren wasteland laid before him. The price you pay for being a traitor's son. Wherever he liked it or not, he was a snowman. He was to be lost to the tales from the world below. He had one destination, it was as far south as he could go without getting killed by his Father's brand. He was headed for the Icebay of Forochel.

 **Author's Note: What do you guys think?**


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